


Arrangements (Halloween Variation 07)

by Lucifer_Rosemaunt



Series: Halloween series 2014 (meet cutes) [7]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Rosemaunt/pseuds/Lucifer_Rosemaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short ficlet variations on a theme: Halloween meet cute. Not-so-cute meet. Fate is often heavy-handed. ErikRaoul slash. supernatural!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

o.o.o.o

Being _a,_ if not _the_ terror of the underworld was beginning to prove to be troublesome and in a rather unexpected manner. Erik had done well for himself after the last war, had kept his land and his home, and maintained the grudging sort of respect and power that violence and fear garnered from those around him, enough respect to ward people away from him. They admired the bloodlust and viciousness that was natural for his kind, and he hated how they could revere and shun him at the same time.

He rather preferred the shrieks of the humans when he revealed himself to them. They were more honest with their disgust, although Erik could not deny it was easier at times to use a little of his charm to attract, manipulate, and erase their memories so that they never truly saw him. At least then, he controlled their disregard, the way their eyes would see right through him. He was invisible by his own accord when he hunted, not because he was an outcast for being a freak amongst monsters.

There was one downside to such application of his abilities though; if he controlled their minds when he drank their blood, there was always some emotional or thought transference. It never failed to unsettle him, enrage him in a manner even he knew to be unreasonable. Emotions that would never be directed towards him and singular moments of contentment and joy he would never experience for himself taunted him by his own prey, by mere cattle, by creatures too dumb to run away from a sweet voice and too weak to run when they saw his deformity – and they always saw the deformity before the fangs.

There were very few individuals he had allowed such transference to occur. Currently, there was a sweet young girl, a rather devoted singer in a small village that he frequented often. He came to her window and coaxed her close enough to touch, but his visits were more to listen to her sing and tutor her rather than drink her blood. He would bask in the few memories he had allowed himself to glean off her. He focused on the sheer innocence of her that shone through, unlike so many of her species, and the debilitating sadness that devastated her since her father’s death. It was how he had come to know of the Angel of Music and how he had learned to use that to his advantage.

He would rather have her, _had_ been planning it for a while now, instead of some unknown wolf. The only thing that had stopped him from turning her was that he was loathe to take away her vitality when the world had yet to experience her singing, when she could still shine so brightly with a voice that was all his own.

Instead, he had somehow been one of the chosen few to prevent the impending war between his kind and the wolves. It was to be a union between several key packs from the wolves and the most powerful of the broods and to Erik’s dismay, himself. He had no brood to speak of, refused to sire any more of his kind when he was certain that the bonds that held such broods together would only eventually destroy itself. But he was strong and well-known.  

He could refuse. He could, but the last war, where he had gained much of his reputation for ruthlessly killing both his kind and the wolves and any humans who came between, sat uneasy in his memory. He had wanted no part of that war either; it had not been his to fight, outcast that he was. Yet, he had gotten no peace, and his home had been ransacked and his art damaged. The responsible parties had not lived long enough to revel in such unnecessary destruction, but that mattered little in the aftermath when he’d had to rebuild.

Acceptance to this agreement would be a concession, but it would be a compromise that would least displease him. The letters he had received about the arrangement had assured him that this need not be anything more than in name alone that the wolf was to be his mate. He need only not kill the wolf and allow the mutt to live in his home, share his food, and continue to exist.

Erik was certain the unfortunate mutt had been told to whom he would be mated and rather expected he would be able to never lay eyes on his _mate_ beyond the initial meeting. Surely, the other would want to maintain his distance and work just as hard on his part to make sure their paths did not cross. They would both commit this sacrifice with the least disruption to their lives.

At least Erik was not the party that would have to leave the home he had built for himself. His property was considerable and his house large, all vaulted ceilings, pointed arches, and stained-glass windows that had only ever been illuminated by candlelight. It was his corner of the world, nestled deep in the woods that housed less of the underworld than it had in the past. It was called the Old World, where magic and lore was so deeply ingrained in every living creature and inanimate object that it was said to be the cradle of all life. As the generations of supernatural beings trickled from their roots, the trees watched and never forgot; they still remembered the smell of the air when the world was still young, when their branches could not touch the sky as they did now. They remembered the wars and the bloodshed as well as the armistice and peace. They remembered a forest alive and thrumming with life and not the abandoned shell that was slowly being carved from existence as the humans spawned and consumed.

Erik had made his home under the oldest thicket of trees, old enough that they were able to grasp each other’s limbs in a tight embrace to block the sunlight from ever touching the forest floor. The eternal night suited him well despite the long travel it took for him to reach the nearest village, but he need not feed every night and rarely ever left his home to travel far.

He briefly wondered how the wolf would fare under these conditions, but quickly banished it from his thoughts.

It was of no concern to him.

o.o.o.o

End chapter

A/N: Yeah, so this happened and the word count got higher than expected on this (considering it did actually take me a day to write… save for the fact that I need another day for the next chapter. I’m living on the edge here, not mapping this short ficlet out. D: Who needs sleep?). I fully blame phantastichomos on tumblr and Daisy’s art. How could I not want something that was vampire!Erik and you obviously know who the werewolf’s going to be? :D

Thank goodness this variation set is done. It only took me like the entire month to finish it. And you’re still going to have to wait for the next chapter.

Fic Review: Show of hands, who thinks the werewolf that’s going to be Erik’s mate is going to do his best to avoid him? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Either way, you know Erik drew the short end of the stick in that deal the vampire council made with the wolves. Really, it’s Erik’s own fault though because he made a name for himself as one of the most powerful (and vicious) supernatural being in that forest (it’s actually a huge forest and Erik basically carved out a chunk of the land for himself that, like, no one goes into because they’re afraid Erik’s going to kill them if they do) and you know the council did it geographically, so they needed someone from the deep woods to represent the vampires since it’s like one of those places that is mostly populated with vampires (no light) versus the other supernatural creatures especially the werewolves since wolves actually like sunlight and definitely moonlight. So, less verbosely, it totally would have been an affront if they hadn’t chosen Erik. It was lose-lose for him either way (it’s actually totally going to be a win though; I mean, come on. It’s Raoul!).


	2. Chapter 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short ficlet variations on a theme: Halloween meet cute. Not-so-cute meet. Fate is often heavy-handed and no matter what universe, I’m certain they’re going to meet.

o.o.o.o

The grandfather clock struck the evening bell and before the final chime, Erik was out of the house, letting the echoes continue to sound behind closed doors. Even with the unending night within the forest, he instinctively knew when the sun had dipped below the horizon; his ventures out into the neighboring villages would be considerably more disastrous if he could not tell night from day. However, the wolves did not take into consideration the protection from the sun when they arranged this meeting, and chose the hour so as to accommodate his particular needs.

He scoffed at the thought but was impressed that when the final bell was just beginning to fade, the sound of hooves upon the packed ground neared. He briefly wondered if he should have decided against wearing his mask. Perhaps if he had, the wolf would be the one to break this agreement and he would be free from an intruder in his home. However, having the wolf see his face would certainly make their coexistence unnecessarily complicated if he did decide to stay.  

The horses slowed to a canter directly in front of his home before stopping and the impressive covered, barouche-landau slowed to a stop. The coachman paid him no heed as he dismounted the rather lavish carriage, all dark wood and elaborate carvings. It was polished enough that even the dust could not hope to cling upon it to dim its gleam under the carriage lamp.

Erik knew immediately this was no low bred wolf they had sent to him, and he could feel his lip curl up in disgust at what surely laid in store for him behind the screened door, a spoiled lord. The letters had been rather vague about who the wolf was to be, to protect him from those against the reconciliation between their kinds. Erik had thought it to be an excuse, thought the council had struggled to find a wolf willing to be sacrificed to one such as himself. He tongued the sharp point of his incisor, contemplating if staving off a war would be worth suffering through having to deal with this wolf and whatever demands he would surely have.

As the last of the luggage had been unloaded, the wraiths that were his servants whisked them all up the stairs and deep within his home with but a gesture from their master. The coachman spared him the briefest of glances, but Erik knew it had been an appraisal. The wolf’s eyes shone yellow briefly before his full attention was on the carriage once more. He knocked twice on the door before opening it and offering his hand, his other held behind him on his lower back.

Erik rolled his eyes at such theatrics, but when he returned his gaze, he froze.

His mate seemed less wolf than lamb who had been led to the slaughter.

The young man, and surely he was no more than just out of his youth, was slim and fair, blond hair allowed to grow long enough to be held back with a black ribbon – and Erik distantly wondered what it was with wolves and hair. He was dressed for travel but still retained the obvious status of a gentleman, wearing a white linen shirt hidden beneath a knee-length frock coat and breeches a deep black. It did not escape Erik’s notice the dust on the young wolf’s boots, bringing with it the conclusion that his mate had spent some of the journey on a horse of his own.  

The pup whispered kind words of thanks to the coachman before reluctantly dismissing him. Erik wondered if his mate realized that it was useless to whisper when he could easily hear every word but did not comment, graciously allowing him some semblance of privacy. The interloper once again looked at Erik, this time suspiciously before placing a hand on his mate’s shoulder as a final farewell. Erik refrained from sneering at the servant as the coachman mounted the barouche-landau and snapped the reins.

The creature that stood before him was no haughty lord, disdainful of this duty thrust upon him. He was no wolf who thought this as but a transaction through which to be suffered. Blue eyes, wide and expressive, met his as the young man offered a hesitant smile before he began to fuss with his wrinkled clothing with hands that shook with nerves.

Erik quickly looked away, tracking the progress of the coachman though it was well out of sight, his hearing easily distinguishing the unnatural sound of the wheels crushing dried leaves. He could not, however, properly distract himself as the wolf – certainly he was too delicate to be a wolf – ascended the steps of his home and stopped before him, only to surprise him further by bowing, all poise and gentility that showed his upbringing and Erik knew if he had a heart it would have raced. He hated the wolf all the more for this rather unexpected turn of events.

“My Lord, I…”

Hearing himself be addressed as such made something within Erik lurch and he decidedly ignored naming what the emotion was. Erik turned abruptly and stalked into his home, gruffly ordering, “Follow me,” wondering if there was to be nothing untoward of his mate.

He missed the look of shock and disappointment that crossed the young wolf’s face before he remembered to school his features. He refused to turn around, but all his senses were attuned to listen to his footfalls, to a momentary scramble to catch up to him as the wolf rather light-footedly leaped the last few steps. How Erik wished he would have been able to witness it, to watch the young man move.

His mate was a sight to behold, but it was not uncommon for those inhuman in nature to be stunning – with the obvious exception of Erik himself, and he was now more thankful for the prudence of having worn his mask. He berated himself for his reactions. This was nothing more than an arrangement between the wolves and the vampires, the young man forced to remain in his presence. He would not fool himself into thinking otherwise, into making this a farce. His plan would remain unchanged. He would show the wolf his room and then leave him to find his own diversion. Nothing would change.

He was brought out of his musings by a hesitant voice.

“Your house is truly a wonder, my Lord.”

Erik’s steps faltered and he clenched his jaw as he fought against responding, against turning to lay his eyes upon such handsome features and the sudden and unexpected urge to truly mark the wolf as his own. His mind already supplied the feeling of the wolf trapped in his arms, struggling in vain to free himself.

He was saved from his own compulsions by having reached the room where the wolf was to sleep and he was ever more grateful for the foresight of having placed it in the wing opposite his own. Opening the door, he took that moment to steel himself before facing the wolf. Taking a deep breath, he realized his mistake too late as the scent of his mate filled his senses and his eyes closed of their own accord as he ignored the smell of travel, dirt and grass, to a complex mix of sweetness and citrus. It was familiar in a way that teased his memory and he could almost picture a meadow in the forest where he had once rested, surrounded by a bloom that enveloped him in this scent.

He abruptly opened his eyes upon realizing what he was doing only to see that hesitant smile still directed towards him even though the wolf stood tall and not cowed by his behaviour. The wolf opened his mouth, but Erik cut him off before he could speak once more. He could not bear to hear his pleasant tenor voice.

“This is to be your room. Your belongings have already been brought and all other amenities have been provided. You are free to explore the house.” He grit his teeth, thinking of how his scent would cling to every room he visited. It would be an unending source of frustration, wondering at the familiarity of his scent. “If you become lost, merely call and the wraiths will lead you wherever you wish.”

“I-” the wolf started but heard the dismissal for what it was. “I _am_ fatigued from the journey,” he offered before ducking his head. As the young man moved past Erik, his arm merely brushed his and Erik’s arm ached at the unintentional contact, his body seeking for more.

Erik turned, seeking his escape and only hesitated when the wolf called, “Thank you for your hospitality, my Lord.”

He took a steadying breath that only served to fill his senses once more with the alluring scent of his mate before he fled.

o.o.o.o

End Ficlet

A/N: It’s so unsatisfying, isn’t it? The next theme definitely will not be meet-cutes. We need something more substantial! It’s almost cruel leaving it there because this fic has so much damn potential I don’t even know what to do with myself when I think about it.

Fic Review: Erik’s got a kink for getting called my Lord apparently – actually, he doesn’t care so much for the title, but have _Raoul_ say it and bam, new kink. XD And he’s like mentally already torn between calling Raoul his mate and referring to him as just wolf.

Also, it’s cruel to say but holy crap, someone needs to know how out of hand this plotbunny got and it’s such an amazing story filled with so much angst I don’t even know how to contain how much I love this verse. Seriously. You don’t understand. You might maybe if I can somehow make it happen see a glimpse of such awesomeness. Might maybe only though. Because there are depths to this story I did not expect to find.


End file.
